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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492643">Slow And Steady Always Wins</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/kthrowaway/pseuds/kthrowaway'>kthrowaway</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Politics - Fandom, Politics - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, Political Nonsense, commission, political parody, well mentions of trump</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 21:40:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,180</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27492643</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/kthrowaway/pseuds/kthrowaway</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The race is over. Joe is finally in an all too familiar setting, but something is missing. How can things feel right when Barack isn’t there with him?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Joe Biden &amp; Barack Obama, Joe Biden/Barack Obama</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Slow And Steady Always Wins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I was paid real actual money to write this. Please enjoy my masterpiece.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">The results are in. The race has finally come to a</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">n</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> end, the long and tiring months of running around, touring the </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">country,</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> and meeting the people of the once great land that he had been </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">apart</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">of so many years ago. Had it really been four years since he had last set foot in the Oval Office? Since </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">he’d</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> last smelled the clean, fresh scent of </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">lavender cleaning supplies and leather polish, or felt the smooth desktop under his hands? It was almost just like he was right here, standing behind one of the greatest men in </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">all of</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> American history. A man that he wished was right here with him at his side. A man that truly had </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">made this world a better place in his eyes not only for what he had done for the American people, but also for what he had done for his heart. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">Barack Obama. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">The last few hours of the race, of the final count were being played in Joe’s head on repeat as he was sliding an aged hand over the leather of the chair behind the desk, gently gripping it in hand so he could feel it’s pull </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">as the cushion under the thin leather gives and allows the chair to be pulled back. The wheels are so perfectly silent, as if they’d been oiled and cleaned from any crusty </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">left over</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> McDonald’s grease from that loose lipped, loud mouthed Oompa Loompa that had recently vacated his nice, nostalgic office. The office that was once filled with so many good memories. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">“I’m going to be winning by a landslide! You know it, everyone knows it! It’s all just a matter of time!” Donald’s thick, curdled milk voice had spoken aloud into the microphone, his lips brushing against the black metal tip, sending his saliva within the small holes. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s3">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">What a joke that was. </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">Joe had thought then, and he thought it now, too as he was getting the chair back enough to slip between it and the desk. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">Joe lowers himself down into the chair, smoothing his fingers along the polished cherry wood of the desk, admiring the </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">woodwork</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> and the colors that have gone into the brazen emblem of the President of the United States of America. The bald eagle that stares up at him from the desk with </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">its</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> mighty brow furrowed is powerful and strong, yet compassionate and caring, just as he must be now that </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">he’s</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> taken office. But </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">there is</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">another part of him, a smaller, weaker part that just deflates within his brain just like the springs in an overused chair like this one </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">does</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> as </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">they’re</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> sat upon. It tells him that this is something that will never work. That he can never really</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">, </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">truly be President by himself. Sure, he has Kamala and the support from her is amazing—but </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">there’s</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> just something </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s3">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">missing. </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">Like a part of his soul has been taken and like a </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">much-loved</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> children’s book, he is limping in his roll down the hill as he tries to fit whatever he can inside that hole. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">One hand </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">tuck</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">s</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> under the collar of his white suit shirt, pulling out small silver heart shaped locket. It was one that he has had for years now, </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">it’s</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> once bright and brilliant surface now weathered and rendered matte with constant friction from his skin. He never once took it off since the day it was made, finding it too precious to remove. Instead, he would keep it firmly around his neck, hidden under his clothing. It was only brought out</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> when he really needed the </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">comfort. Now, with the parts of his brain that ate him up inside, he needed the comfort of what lay within his locket more than ever. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">With a gentle press against the worn clasp, the silver heart pops open, revealing the faces of Barack and himself on either </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">ends</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">. Joe gently thumbs up over the gentle, kind face of Barack with a longing sigh. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">“I wish you had been there during this all, Barack. I made it. Did you see the look on Donald’s face when the results were finally announced? He was so angry it was like a bad joke telling itself.” He was speaking aloud, his eyes locked upon the picture of the most important man in the entire world. “I wish you were </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">here,</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> you know. I could really use your wisdom, your guidance. I miss you more than anything else in the world. Were you there at the inauguration? I searched the crowd for your face, but there were so many people and with the masks and all, it’s hard to tell who </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">is who anymore</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">.” </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">A heavy sigh was leaving Joe’s lips and he was slumping down against the desk, head coming to rest on the crook of his arms. That was the thing that ate him up the most. He </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">didn’t</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> know if Barack had been there to see him win, to see him set into office as the next President. The one man in the sea of faces that he </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">didn’t</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> know hadn’t been there as far as he knew. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">Joe barely hears the gentle knock at the door, not registering that someone had entered. That someone had heard. Not until that voice, as thick as honey, as smooth as buttermilk was sounding out from the doorway. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">“</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">Of course</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> I was there, Joe. I wouldn’t miss your inauguration for anything else in the world.” </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">It was somewhat muffled behind a face mask, but there was no mistaking it.</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> Barack Obama was there, right in front of him. Joe’s head snaps up from the desk, his eyes having widened to the size of two saucepans at the sight of him. The biggest smile begins to cross the new President’s face—something akin to a kid on Christmas morning. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">“Barack—” </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">He’s</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> barely able to get his name out before his body was moving, lifting him up from the chair and causing him to stumble over himself as he was moving quickly to head to Barack. Though of course, he stops six feet away for both of their safety despite wanting to throw himself into Barack’s arms. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">“You’re here—You came! I—This is all I could have ever asked for!” </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">Barack gives him that smile – at least Joe thinks he does as his eyes crinkle a bit more at the corners – and it’s almost like his heart </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s3">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">melts </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">right then and there into a puddle of goo that slips and slides through his ribcage. </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">“I know you’re worried, Joe. But everything is going to be alright. You did it, you won. </span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">There’s</span>
  </span>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15"> a lot to do, and you don’t want to be late in fixing it. I may not be right there beside you, but I’ll be rooting for you from the sidelines as always.” </span>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="s2">
    <span class="bumpedFont15">And just like that, Joe Biden’s anxieties melted away like the last of winter’s snow on a warm spring morning. If Barack told him it would be okay, he believed him. Everything would be okay.</span>
  </span>
</p>
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